MassiveSitting in the dimly lit den, I hear
The static of the television
And the rambling and muttering of a talk show host on the air
I hear that audience laughing at Conan O'Brien late at night
And the ranting of an old minister's broadcast
And I hear the click of the remote grasped firmly in my palm
And my heart thrashing about in my chest, as if to get get free from it's captor
And the forced words of a reporter crying tears in front of the camera
And the stern voice of a President, bearing a grim visage, saying that there is nothing to fear
Sitting in my den, I hear the sirens beckoning, and the gears of war slowly beginning to grind
SEXThis poem is about sex.SEX8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
(yeah, that got your attention)
This poem is about sex.
This poem is about love.
This poem is about living in your sexuality
instead of being afraid of it.
This poem is about saying fuck you
to everyone who told you
This poem is about the sin so natural
it takes you to heaven on earth.
This poem is about turning the key,
finding your voice,
making your own choice.
This poem is about independence,
instead of buying into all their misery.
150 pages of health text book telling you
6 years of administration telling you
6 years of scaring you
out of whats instinctual.
6 years of alarmist tactics,
and no information
setting a social taboo
so they can control how we live our lives.
Emo?Emo?Emo?8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is it really that bad?
you cant accept the fact
that i get a little sad?
that i am a little mad?
so i favor black
and i dont like pink
you use those as reasons
to make my soul sink
so some of us cut
and some of us dont
we can smile
laugh love and live
we're just not like the rest
sure we cry
we want to die
but none of you understand
its not like we had planned
to live life like this
to spend our days
depressed and amiss
we're not bad people
we dont worship satan
we're not out to kill anyone
we just dont like the world
as much as everyone else
and we dont like ourselves
as much as we could
but we're ok with that
you can call us ugly
you can call us fat
but you cant change who we are
we are emo
whats so wrong with that?
InsaneInsane.Insane10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
People call me insane.
How do they know?
Can anyone truly say what is insane?
And what isn't?
Who can judge? Everyone.
Who has the right? No one.
They are not mind-readers.
They have no way of knowing
What is inside my head.
Even if I write it down,
It is changing all the time.
Points of view, opinions.
The next second they become old
And new ones take their place.
Constantly changing, evolving,
Inside my head.
Always questioning, thinking,
Reasoning, and imagining.
Insane? I don't think so.
Truth is a matter of opinion
Everyone is insane
At the exact time
That no one is.
Why must people call me insane?
Why must they fear me?
Is it me they fear
Or what will come out of their mouths
If I prod long enough?
Are they afraid of opinions
And actual thoughts,
Or is it just
Tiny, insignificant me?
Why must people fear
What they do not understand?
Worse of all,
They don't try to understand.
They just stick a label on me, POP!
I am crazy.
CENSOR THIS 08880CENSOR THIS 0888013 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I remember when I know why the cage bird sings
was challenged for the "encouragement to take action
in premarital sex, homosexuality, and the use of
I remember when the Bible was banned and/or
challenged for being "pornography and obscene"
in Alaska and Pennsylvania in 1993.
I remember when the The Autobiography of
Malcolm-X was challenged in Flordia in 1994--
because it was "racist against white people"
I remember when Jambo Means Hello: The Swahili
Alphabet was charged with "degrading white
children" although it was a book for white children to
understand the African-American culture much better.
I remember when Daddy's Roomate was removed
by most libraries by most of the United States---for
Eviction of Alice CarpenterIn the low country, in the swamp-peppered cradle of Louisiana,Eviction of Alice Carpenter12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the widow Alice Carpenter trims a potholed lawn made dense
by the suffocating fruitfulness of bayou humidity beyond rickety porch fronts
and the screen door still dewed from morning rainfall.
And she motions insincere welcome with a nod
at the White Man in his tawdry emerald suit.
She watches, blamelessly spiteful, as he steps proudly over cracked cement
and into her peeling kitchen to speak of business with the Brother.
When he leaves, he stops and glances at her baby in the rocking chair
while the boy stares back with Ebony eyes, glaring black freckles.
And he will judge.
And he will judge.
Until, borders affirmed between man, between boy,
the Suit descends the fractured steps and smugly walks
the trail through the lawn.
And Alice Carpenter spits away her fury at his unknowing feet.
EmpathyAntisocial?Empathy6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
For God's sake, eat!
Deal with it.
Find a balance and stick with it.
There are people dying for that food you waste.
Control yourself, woman!
Stop being so clingy!
Do you always have to have the spotlight?
Yeah right, attention whore.
It's not all about you!
It's not that bad.
Not everyone is out to get you.
You're just weak.
You're a cold one, aren't ya?
Why you gotta be so weird all the time?
Get a grip on reality.
There are better ways to get attention.
Why don't you just kill yourself already?
If you have said any of these things,
To any of these people,
Get a fucking perspective.